The Trouble with Time Machines
by Zuzeca
Summary: In which Trunks becomes his own father. Crack, humor, reposted oneshot from the kinkmeme. Implied Future Trunks/Bulma


A/N: I seem to be sliding down a slippery slope here. With the recent release of Dragonball Kai (and a certain unnamed series of much briefer duration), I've found myself lurking on the fringes of the DBZ fandom. Which of course meant I went and sought out the kinkmeme, and invariably found a prompt I just couldn't resist trying out. It all seems kind of inevitable now. Please keep in mind that this is utter crack and not to be taken seriously.

Warnings: Vague timeline, non-explicit descriptions of sexual activity and implied incest. Also crack, time travel, flagrant alcohol and character abuse and a plot idea yoinked from Futurama.

Disclaimer: I do not own _Dragonball Z_. All characters are property of their respective copyright holders and I am making no profit from this work of fiction.

o

The first thing Trunks was aware of was his pounding head.

The next was the sunlight stabbing through his closed eyelids with all the force of one of Gohan's ki blasts whenever he was trying to make a point. Which was all the time.

He groaned, turning over and pressing his face into the bed sheets. His tongue felt thick and his mouth dry, as though someone had crammed cotton inside it. This was the last time he was ever drinking vodka, vile stuff had burned bad enough going down, to say nothing of his screaming head. 'A man's drink' be damned; he could practically hear Gohan shaking his head and making that little 'tsk' noise that he must have inherited from his mother…

Wait a minute.

He forced his muzzy brain into a mental backtrack.

Bed sheets?

When had he gone to bed?

Come to think of it, this didn't smell like his bed. It didn't smell bad, mind you though the mattress was a bit too soft, it just wasn't his room. He was fairly sure he was still at Capsule Corp, because that was where the party had taken place and he must have been pretty drunk so he couldn't have wandered too far. So where…?

Something shifted beside him, letting out a little sigh before relaxing back and he froze.

Oh gods. He wasn't alone.

And now that he directed his attention to something beyond his miserable headache, he realized he was buck naked.

Shit.

Okay, so he'd slept with someone. Probably. He was still a little fuzzy on the details. That was alright. Awkward, but alright. He was an adult. Presumably this other person was too. Adults slept with each other, right?

Another small sound from beyond the shelter of the bed sheets, a satisfied murmur, high in pitch. Female then, most likely. That was good; at least he hadn't lost it so far he'd slept with a guy. Not that there was necessarily a problem with that. He'd never really considered himself as someone who was into guys, though to be perfectly honest if Gohan had ever offered he probably wouldn't have said no…

Right, focus.

Squinting his eyes against the light, he lifted his head from the sheets and peered over at the warm lump beside him. She was mostly buried in amongst the sheets, but he caught a glimpse of blue hair poking up above the pillow.

Blue hair.

There was only one person at Capsule Corp with blue hair.

Trunks' brain crashed and burned.

.,.

Trunks flew out of his mother's bed like a shot, legs tangling in the comforter he must have kicked to the floor sometime during the night. He stumbled, staggered and with all the grace that came from years of martial arts training, just managed to keep himself from face-planting on the floor.

This was not happening.

Bulma gave a sleepy grumble and rolled towards him, the sheet dipping and exposing a breast. He jerked his eyes away.

Dim memories were filtering back in. Bulma pouring him drinks, batting those long lashes. Panic, embarrassment, drinking more than he should. Kissing her through a haze of alcohol, the thick flavor of her pink lipstick that he could still taste.

This was not happening.

Oh, gods.

This wasn't his fault, his brain wailed frantically. He'd been drunk, he'd never even been with a woman before this. Wasn't like there was time in between all the android fights and she was beautiful and he was a red-blooded male damn it, and even if she was his mother she still had the nicest rack he'd ever seen—oh gods not thinking about that.

He could feel something welling up inside him, like when he molded his ki, like when he went super saiyan. Something huge and wild. Something frightening.

It was probably a nervous breakdown.

He blew through the window, not really noticing whether it had been open or not. Probably not; that would explain the glass shards that were suddenly occupying his hair. Faced with the prospect of having to look his mother in the eye after last night, Trunks did the only thing he could think of.

He ran.

Or flew rather. Wind screamed past him, buffeting against the shield of his ki, the crack of his passage as he broke through the sound barrier without a thought.

What the hell was he supposed to do now?

Part of him said he be fine if he just kept flying. Surely not even a time paradox crisis could catch up with a speeding super saiyan? But the logical, reasonable part of his brain, and just where the hell had _that_ been last night? reminded him he couldn't fly forever. Eventually he'd just end up circling the world and wind up at Capsule Corp again, stupid planet with its stupid spherical shape…

Oh gods.

He had slept with his mother.

Trunks promptly lost his hold on his ki and crashed into the bank of a nearby river, sinking several inches into the substrate. He pressed his face into the river mud and wondered if he could suffocate himself.

Unfortunately his ki shield had zapped the dirt when he'd landed, driving out all the moisture and leaving him in a person-shaped cradle of dried mud. No help there.

Okay think.

Maybe he could drink more? How much alcohol could it possibly take to destroy all the brain cells that remembered last night? First he'd have to calculate the approximate number of neurons in a human brain, or was it a saiyan brain? Damn hybrid biology! Then the amount of ethanol in milliliters necessary to kill off one neuron, multiply by the number of…how much was that? A gallon? Ten gallons? He couldn't seem to get his brain to convert to SI units. He wished Gohan was here, he was really good at math…

He shoved his face further into the dirt and moaned.

"My life is over."

"Just the opposite in fact, my dear."

He jerked his head up out of the mud and stared. Several feet above him a small, hunched figure floated. A pinched and wrinkled face peered down at him from beneath a large pointed hat.

"Who are you?"

The little woman? touched down near him, smoothing her black gown as she straightened slightly, "You can call me Baba."

A vague memory tugged at him, someone mentioning an old lady…

"You're some kind of fortuneteller?"

She made a little _mou_ of distaste, "If you like, though I've always thought it made me sound like a bit of a hack. And you are right on time."

"What does that mean?"

"It means I was rather concerned that you weren't going to manage this in time. According to my vision if you'd waited until the next time you returned it would have been just a bit too late. Good thing the woman happened to be fertile, goodness only knows what a mess this is even without having to take hormone cycles into account…"

But Trunks' brain had stalled at the word 'fertile'. His eyes bulged.

"Wait just a damn minute, are you telling me, please don't tell me, that I just got my mother _pregnant_? And I was supposed to do this?"

"Of course. It was prophesized after all."

"I'm pretty sure there was another prophesy about some guy banging his mother and that didn't turn out too well!"

"Such foolishness. Your timeline is parallel with this one, not convergent. In this history, Vegeta was never meant to be your father."

"Oh gods, this is too fucked up. But, wait a minute, wouldn't that make me, him only a quarter saiyan?"

"Indeed."

"Then I, I mean the Trunks of this timeline, isn't he going to be weaker or something?"

"Goodness, no. It is no accident that you and Gohan have greater potential than your fathers. Saiyan blood is such that the power of one's descendants increases with dilution. It is similar to the principle behind that type of medicine, homo, homo…"

"Homeopathy?"

"Yes."

"But, but….genetics don't work that way!"

"Such a cynical boy."

Trunks groaned and buried his head back in the mud, "Never mind, putting your lunatic logic aside for a moment, my father is going to kill me."

"One shouldn't joke about suicide."

"Damn it!"

.,.

The cursed old hag left him blubbering on the bank of the river and floated off with only a "It'll work out in the end, dearie" and a gentle pat on the head.

Sometimes, he hated his life.

Weren't things bad enough? What with the androids and losing Gohan and the whole fucking world being messed up, running and hiding and scrounging a miserable existence from among the rubble.

And on top of that he _still_ had a hangover.

So where did he go from here?

Did he go back and pretend like nothing had happened? Hope that Bulma had been even drunker than he was? Pray that the memory of last night dissipated like the champagne bubbles in an open bottle? Flee for home, back to the endless rounds with the androids? Back to battling 18's cold indifference and listening to 17's mocking trash talk? And to think that the next time the bastard made some ludicrous crack about his propensity for intra-familial fornication that he'd actually be correct…

For some reason he found this unbearably funny.

A voice penetrated through the sound of his sobbing, hysterical giggles, "So, is this a common ritual where you come from? Weeping into a river while naked?"

He looked up. A man scowled down at him from the peak of the riverbank, the upswept flame of his hair stark against the unfairly cheerful blue sky.

Vegeta.

At the sight of his supposed-to-be father, Trunks felt something snap.

"_You_."

The man crossed his arms and glowered at him, "Yes, me."

"You, you _son of a bitch_!"

Eyes narrowed, "I beg your pardon?"

He was on Vegeta in an instant, fisting his hands in his training suit, shaking the man, raining dried mud on him as he screamed in his face.

"This is your fault! If you'd stopped obsessing over Goku for five damn minutes and just screwed her like you were supposed to I wouldn't be in this mess! I mean she's got the nicest rack this side of Central City! Are you some kind of gods damned eunuch or just completely blind?"

A fist planted itself squarely between his eyes, snapping his head back and possibly breaking his nose by the feel of it. He crashed to the ground and stared up at his father, wait was Vegeta even still his father? in a daze.

"Someone should warn the woman," the man sneered, "clearly time travel results in mental instability."

"I'll show you mental instability, you—"

A foot thudded against his ribs and he wheezed, choking.

"Are you quite finished?"

He glared up at Vegeta, but wisely remained silent. The man smirked and strode off.

Slowly Trunks sat up and gingerly felt his nose. Yep, definitely broken. Damn it.

"Fuck this," he groaned, "I'm going home, back to where the world was destroyed by androids and people build time machines and things make _sense_."

.,.

Bulma Briefs, heir to the Briefs fortune and certified scientific prodigy, woke with a splitting headache and no memory of how she'd managed to make it to her bed.

Groaning, she rolled into a sitting position and clamped her hands over her watering eyes as she waited for the world to stop spinning. "Gods," she grumbled, "that's the last time I ever let Roshi make me his special cocktails. 'Angel's Tit' my ass; the thing should have been called 'Mule's Backside'. Certainly kicks like one."

She was striving to recall the location of the nearest bottle of pain medication and whether it might be worth emerging from the safety of the sheets to retrieve it, when the crash of her bedroom door slamming open startled her. Her head jerked up and she yelped as her neck protested.

Vegeta stood in the doorway, his training suit ripped and dirty. He was staring at her, eyes narrowed. "You, earth woman," he snapped. "Copulate with me."

Bulma's eyes nearly bulged out of her head, "I beg your pardon?"

"You heard me."

"Listen mister, I don't know what kind of customs you have where you come from, but just because you're living in my house doesn't mean I'm going to—"

"Your pointless nattering is beginning to irritate me. I repeat: woman, will you copulate with me?"

"My name is Bulma damn—" but then he had her by the shoulders and the last word was muffled by his mouth.

For half a second she considered struggling. Who the hell did he think he was anyway, barging in here demanding sex? But then his tongue delved into her mouth and teeth scraped along her lower lip and her body lit up like that flaming drink Yamcha bought for her once.

She even forgot her pounding headache for a moment.

He pulled away from her mouth and pounced on her neck, the burn of teeth and tongue searing a path across her skin.

_Fuck it, I guess you only live once. And he is a hot little piece, even if he's an enormous jackass._

"Oh, what the hell?" she groaned. "Get in here, damn it."

He was naked in record time. Who knew those training suits could stretch that far? Her headache had receded far enough that she could appreciate the flex of his muscles as he whipped the sheet off the bed and leapt on her with the grace of a large disgruntled cat.

As he pushed into her, she could have sworn she heard him snarl under his breath, "…show that little bastard who's a eunuch."

o

Feedback is appreciated.


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